Death By Design
by Devil's Dandruff
Summary: In that moment, Jim realized his fate would be the same as his father's... "T-minus 8 seconds to self-destruction."


It was a hot day on Vulcan; the sun pierced through the clouds, its beams settling on the coarse rocky dust that formed the planet's surface. The towering buildings of Vulcan matched the terracotta soil of the planet, and the cities were a compliment to the planet's nature. The buildings seemed to represent the Vulcan people; they were composed of clean lines, structural design, and symmetrical creation, and were most logical. The structures were impeccable in their construction, but they lacked a unique quality. They were not the flashy, metallic, contrasting buildings of earth.

Now, the fiery sun began to set on Vulcan, creeping below the buildings, allowing the planet to be consumed by darkness. However, as the sun's rays were slowly disappearing, the cry of a new born child echoed off the buildings. The alien sound ricocheted through the halls, confusing the citizens of Vulcan, for Vulcans would never express such an emotion, even at birth. The sound ceased to exist as a man began to speak.

Sarek, a thin tall Vulcan, hung over the now silent child, his shadow casting over the tightly wrapped white bundle. He was wearing a black tunic with matching trousers, his garb accentuating his already dark hair and angular eyebrows. He looked down upon his wife Amanda and his newborn child. With a small glint in his eyes, he turned down to face his flustered mate.

"I congratulate you on your successful delivery," Sarek stated matter-of-factly.

A defiant smirk appeared on Amanda's face, her pointed chin and pink cheeks turned away from Sarek. Her soft features and demeanor were a stark contrast to the military form of Vulcans. Even with years on Vulcan, Amanda felt absolutely human. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped. Her mind continued to buzz. Why couldn't Sarek be there for her? She moved planets to be there by herself?

The look of anger melted off her face; it was replaced with a look of disappointment. She gazed up at Sarek, her words coming out choked and distorted.

"I thought you were going to stay with me, be with me through labour."

Sarek paused and took in a large breath. "It is not customary for Vulcan men to—"

"I needed you there," Amanda choked out, her eyes starting to glaze over at the sight for her seemingly emotionless husband.

Sarek knelt down beside his wife's chair, grasping Amanda's trembling hand, his guilt catching up with him. The day's events came flooding back: how he purposely avoided the birth of his child, pausing only to stand outside the delivery room rather than come in. His ear had been firmly pressed to the door as Amanda called out his name, but he had walked on to the Academy, attempting to busy himself with trivial activities. He recalled her screams of pain ricocheting through the hospital halls. He understood that a human who carried a half Vulcan child would experience imminence pain; pain that even he could not fully comprehend. Sarek heard her screams of agony, but chose to ignore her many pleads. He knew he was a coward, and he was ashamed of his behavior; he purposely missed the most precious moment of their lives. Sarek looked back up at Amanda, but even after his flood of emotions, all he could manage to say to her was, "My presence was needed at the Academy."

Amanda looked down upon her newly born child, her frustration and sadness slowly disintegrating as his eyes began to open. A look of wonder grew in them as her reached out to touch her cheek. Amanda looked up at Sarek, her voice beginning to carry her new happiness.

"What should we name him?"

Sarek meditated on the question, gazing off to the monuments of Vulcan, a set of idols featuring the first settlers of the planet. These enormous sandstone statues were the foundation of Vulcan, objects of pure inspiration, which served no mechanical purpose, yet were regarded with such respect and honour. They were the paradox of Vulcan; a culture so grounded in purpose, which relied on something so illogical, they depended on something so human. In that moment, Sarek knew that his son would be like one of those statues. He would be the illogical being that neither he, nor Vulcan, could live without.

"Spock," Sarek said turning towards Amanda, a smile forming in his eyes. "He was a vital founder of Vulcan. It would be an honour to name him after such an influential being."

Spock. The name didn't quite click. Amanda contemplated on Sarek's statement. She was reminded of a vital human figure. He was a man who breached cultural norms, and encompassed a new generation of humans toward equality and acceptance. Yves St Laurent!. She once again looked down on their child, a person she knew would struggle in life, neither fully belonging to Vulcan or Earth. However, she had no doubt in her mind that her son would one day become vital to not only Earth, but to Vulcan as well.

"You seem displeased with the suggestion," Sarek stated, breaking Amanda's reverie.

Amanda looked deep into her husband's eyes. "No, Spock is perfect."

END SCENE

"I need to send your son away, Winona," a booming voice said. The words hung in the air, creating a gravity that held her in the chair. She didn't dare move. She went through the steps in her mind: stay still, stay calm. Don't do anything. This doesn't exist. It's just another nightmare. If you acknowledge it's a dream, you will wake up.

"Winona? Winona?" the psychiatrist spoke softly. All he could do was look at her, a ghost of her former self, her gaunt face forming an "o". It was as if a spirit possessed her. Hot tears streamed down her face. The vacant look that plagued her for months was replaced with completely dead, almost soulless eyes. Life was finally drained from her completely.

"Look, I'm sorry Winona. I didn't want to have to do this," the psychiatrist said calmly with an underlying sadness. "Jim, he's underweight, weak, and at risk for permanent brain damage. You cannot take care of your child in this state. He will die, he will have the same fate as Geor—"

A blood-curdling scream ripped through the room, consuming the office. Winona began thrashing violently in the chair, her whole body convulsing in pain. The scream carried into the halls, ringing throughout the building.

"_Tiberius, you kidding me? No, that's the worst. Let's name him after your Dad. Let's call him Jim." The slight smile in George's words betrayed his emotions._

"_Jim. Ok, Jim it is," Winona choked out. "But George, what about your designs, did you send them to Fas—" _

"_I love you so much. I love you…" The feed cut out, his words clinging to her. The conviction of the sentence made her chest constrict. This would become the best and worst day of her life. Jim, the paradox, making her feel so alive and so dead simultaneously. _

White. That was the only colour Winona saw as her watery eyes flickered open. What was this place? She began to sit up, but something held her into place. As she glanced at her left arm, she noticed a large piece of plastic covering her wrist. A pair of guards was constraining her to a bed.

"Miss?" A tall, lean man wearing a white coat spoke softly, his eyebrows rising in concern.

This was a dream. Another bad nightmare. Her eyes roamed up and down the figure before her. He was wearing surgical scrubs. The Hospital? She glanced back up at the man noting an ID badge around his neck.

'No,' she thought.

The memories flooded back: the meeting with her psychiatrist, how he told her that he had to take away Jim—the only thing keeping her alive. Her last memory of George. She remembered her violent screams, how she went running out the room, searching for something. She ran into the hall, finding a utility closet. Trapped, alone, an in need of—

"Miss? Miss?" The soft voice interrupted her thoughts. She could feel hot tears running down her face, and the man was becoming increasingly distorted.

The voice spoke again. "Could you please tell me your name, age," he paused at the next question, stammering on his words and looking away from her frightened gaze, "and why you're here."

Her red-rimmed eyes looked up to the man, and she began to speak softly. "My name is Winona Kirk, I'm 32 years old, and I'm here because, because—" Her voice once again hesitated, faltering at the next words. She stared at the restraints on her wrist, now noting the long gauze bandage that covered her forearms. It was speckled with blood. She looked back at the man, new tears forming in her eyes. Her next words came out in a hoarse whisper.

"I'm here because I tried to kill myself."

END SCENE

"Another round." The words came out rougher than he expected. It didn't matter anymore, Jim thought to himself; he needed whiskey more than ever today. The 10th of May. What a fucking day it was. As Jim looked into the honey colour of his drink, his thoughts slowly began to drift.

"_You get the hell out of house James Tiberius Kirk," his uncle shouted in fury. This was the day Jim crashed his uncle's vintage corvette. "I can't take this anymore. Now I finally understand why your mother did it," His uncle's voice echoed off through the wooden barn, consuming the entirety of the building._

"_Wha—What do you mean?" Jim sputtered._

"_I lasted fourteen fucking years with you. She couldn't even last three months." His voice came out as a sharp hiss, which cut through Jim. _

"_I—I don't understand," Kirk choked out, his jaw hanging. _

"_What, are you that dense? You think she's off on some space mission? Saving the world? She's just another drunk, another statistic—she tried to kill herself." The bitterness in his voice clung to Jim. _

"_No, that's not true! You're a liar. You steal, you cheat—my father gave you everything," Jim spat back, tears welling in his eyes._

"_Where's your father? Huh? There's no one to save you now, and there will be. You're as good as dead, why don't you join the rest of your family and do me a favour." His uncle walked over to him, raised his right fist, and punched Jim square between the eyes._

_—_

_The searing sun beat down on his inert form; a field surrounded him in every direction as Jim began to rise up from the ground. _

_This was his life now. He was alone in the world. _

"Another," Jim downed the whiskey in one gulp. He needed to escape his memories, but it never seemed to be enough.

May the 10th. This was the day his mother tried to take her life. He considered this day his birthday. A birthday, he thought—this was the one day that represented who a person was, and Jim thought the 10th of May represented who he _really_ was: a monster who would drive someone to take their own life. A monster that was too much of a coward to do the same.

END SCENE

"For someone of your handicap, it is impressive that you have been accepted into this school." The words sent a shiver throughout Spock's body. The board members looked down on him, their scrutinizing eyes assessing every move he made. They were desperately looking for something—something that would show he was human. Even after he proved himself tenfold, they still wanted him to fail. Spock told himself that things would be different, that the choices he made and the things he achieved would prove he was an equal. This was supposed to be the final test, the thing that would finally make him Vulcan. After all this time, he still wasn't good enough.

"So do you accept the offer?" the chair of the board stated coldly.

Spock looked down at the floor. He couldn't utter the words at this moment. Instead of words, memories came to him.

"_You are neither human, nor Vulcan, and therefore have no place in the world," the bully spat at Spock_

"_What is that your wearing? It is so human, so illogical."_

_"He's a traitor, you know, your father, for marrying her—that human whore." The words struck a cord in him. Spock raised his fists, and began pounding the bully's face. He relished in the feeling of flowing green blood spreading over his hands. They thought humans were animals, and he was determined to prove them right. _

_Spock landed a final punch right between the bully's eyes, effectively knocking him out. At that moment, Sarek walked in, a disappointed look falling onto his features. "Come son," Sarek said sternly, leading Spock to another room away from his schoolmates._

_His mind was racing with questions. Why did he have to act out like that? Why did he have to shame his father? But most of all, he wondered if the bullies were right. "Father, did you marry Mother because you loved her?"_

_Sarek looked into his son eyes as he thought of his life on Vulcan and how he was held with such high regard; he was considered a revolutionary scientist, a person who was willing to coexist with humans, and even going so far as to marry one. The citizens of Vulcan respected him because they pitied him. Sarek knew if he let his son know the truth he would break the façade. If someone else knew he married for love he would not be able to keep up his appearances____—h_e wouldn't be able to maintain his status, to keep his pride, so he lied to his son. "It would be illogical for me to marry your mother for anything other than reproduction. As Ambassador to Earth, it was my burden to wed a human." 

_After those words were uttered, Spock understood his place in the world. He was no longer a being____—_he was nothing more than an experiment. He was a burden on his father, a source of shame. His Father did not love him; he merely tolerated him. Mother, he thought... she loved him, but that was worse of all. She would outwardly profess her affections for him, but this behaviour was unacceptable for Vulcans. I will always love mother, he thought, but it must become my burden as well. If I am ever to be accepted as a Vulcan I will have to deny this savage part of me. 

_Spock would exterminate his human side._

END SCENE

**AN:** Thank you all who read. I hope you enjoyed it. This is a multi-chapter fic; I'm covering a bit of background in the first couple of chapters. After that is done, I will begin the original part of my story. I hope you will consider writing a review as this is my first official fic and I would much appreciate feedback. I would like to thank my Beta Fish (Zykopath) for editing my story! Pease read her stuff as well on our joint account.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek, nor ever will.


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